


Vision

by TeddyTR



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-30
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:58:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddyTR/pseuds/TeddyTR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Doctor Neil said that if I speak to you again, I might go irrevocably mad."</p><p>"What?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vision

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, I got inspiration from one of my own fics (I know, how totally uncool!), A new John Watson. Somehow I started to wonder, what if John was really certain that Sherlock is a vision. This is how I imagined it.

Sherlock stood stunned at the little hallway of 221B. In front of him stood the John Watson he was longing to see for three years. The John Watson he needed so bad he thought it might kill him. The John Watson who stared at him with an unmoving, expressionless soldier face, but whose tears started to fall the moment their eyes met.

 

So they stood there, John – tears flowing without a flinch, Sherlock – pretty much alive, words suddenly lost in his throat.

 

“John-“

 

“No. I shouldn’t speak with you.”

 

Sherlock nodded slightly. That’s what he was expecting. He was ready for John’s totally understandable rage. But it did not continue like that.

 

“Doctor Neil said that if I speak to you again, I might go irrevocably mad.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re a good one though. Even the smell fits. I guess my brain’s getting better at hallucinating.”

 

“John, what are you talking about?”

 

“Oh, but you’re the dumbest.”

 

“The dumbest of _whom_?”

 

“Of my visions, _obviously._ ”

 

Sherlock stared. _Visions? What the hell?_ His brain had a hard time clicking it together, since it was far too surreal to comprehend.

 

“You mean-“

 

“Yes, yes, never mind. I just wish _this_ would stop.” John pointed angrily at his wet cheeks. “Every bloody time one of you appears _this_ starts. As if I was peeling onions. I thought I would get accustomed. Apparently not.” He was now on his way to the kitchen, mumbling on, speaking more likely to himself than Sherlock. Sherlock followed anyway.

 

“Hell, I’ve never cried tears before. Special occasion, I guess, you dying. Now, I cry oceans. Tea?”

 

“I-“

 

“Oh, I forgot, you visions can’t eat or drink.”

 

“How do you-“

 

“I’ve tried to feed you before, of course. Made your favorite. It was such a waste.”

 

Sherlock frowned. The worry, that became a permanent organ in his chest, was pumping hard. He hoped it would be gone when he finally see John. He knew there would be damage, but this? This was scary.

 

“John, I’m not a vision.”

 

“Yeah-yeah, I know.”

 

“You know?”

 

“You all tell me that. It doesn’t get old, does it?”

 

“No, you don’t understand. I _am_ real. I’m alive. I was, all the way. But I had to fake death to keep you safe and chase down Moriarty.”

 

“Oh, this is good; I like this one the best!”

 

“Again, what are you talking about?”

 

“You know, your predecessors came up with quite a lot explanation. For example, leaving me because I’m disabled and/or too dumb and/or too ordinary for you. I didn’t like these ones. They were rude. Shouting with me and all. My personal favorite was Hawaii. And then sometimes, gentle ones came with comforting and affectionate words. Like you. I loved them, but it’s twice as worse when they disappear.”

 

“Well, this is… interesting, but you still don’t get it.”

 

Sherlock moved to close the distance between them. The moment he did, John dropped the almost empty mug from his hands. Sherlock froze. It crashed loudly on the floor. John stared at him, eyes widened with horror.

 

“John?” Sherlock asked and risked another hesitant step, but the other man jumped back immediately.

 

“No, don’t come closer.”

 

“Why?”

 

“The instant you visions touch me, you fade away.”

 

“But-“

 

“I know. Doctor Neil will kill me for this, but I just want to stay with you a little longer. I like the gentle ones.”

 

Sherlock didn’t know what to say. It was hard to tell if John’s state was clinical or not. He wasn’t right, that much was pretty clear. _What kind of grief can do something like this?_

 

“John, what happened?”

 

“Really, the dumbest.” John chuckled without humor. “You died.”

 

“Yeah, but-“

 

“I loved you.” He blurted out. “I loved you, but I never told you. I should have. I should have told you every bloody day. I was too afraid. Coward. And now all I can do is tell every single vision my mind make up, hoping that maybe somewhere the _real_ you can hear. It would be easier if I believed in heaven.”

 

Sherlock literally stopped breathing. He was the same. Feeling the same for all those long years. Since the affair with the cabbie. Being afraid. And in the end, not telling John because of Mycroft’s plan of faking death. Decided it would hurt too much, either way. _God, I’m really the dumbest._

 

 _What to do now?_ He asked from his super intelligent brain. It couldn’t answer. His heart could. And it did it out loud.

 

“I love you too.” John looked up.

 

“Now that’s new. But you’re wrong. You _loved_ me.”

 

“No, John, I love you, I loved you for a long time and I’m planning to continue loving you for decades or so.”

 

Tears started to flow again, wetting John’s disturbingly still features.

 

“Hell, see what you’ve done? It started again. That’s because you’re the first one talking nonsense.”

 

“Okay, that’s it John.” Sherlock was irritated. He stomped through the kitchen and caught John, who was trying to get away. He pushed the man against him, holding the trembling little figure as close as possible.

 

John sucked in a breath which refused to leave his system for long moments. After those long moments, Sherlock was still there. _This is wrong,_ John thought confused. With hesitant fingers, he brushed through the vision-Sherlock’s quite existent black coat he loved so much. The coat stayed. His hands slid to the chest and the vision-Sherlock was considerate enough to loosen his grip and let him feel the shirt under the coat. The shirt stayed too. John’s hands started to tremble harder. With some struggle, he unbuttoned two buttons. There was that white, smooth and very existent skin. And it stayed.

 

John felt long-gone sobs bubbling up in his throat.

 

“No.” He whispered. “I’m going crazy.”

 

As an answer, the suspiciously-existent-vision-Sherlock gently placed his head on his chest. John heard a heartbeat. And another one. And several more. Sobs broke through.

 

“You’re the best vision I’ve ever made up.” He choked into the maybe-real arms.

 

“You’re not mad John. I’m here.” There was silence for a while. Suddenly, John tensed in Sherlock’s embrace and pulled away abruptly.

 

“Wait, that’s even worse! You can’t be back! Not after all of… _this_! I’ve gone _mad_ while you were gone, I’m a wrench! And I’ve just confessed to you and you are you so-“

 

“John!” John started hyperventilating and Sherlock decided that the panic attack must be stopped before it could start. He pulled a blinking John to the sofa.

 

“Here, sit. Calm down, okay? Everything’s fine.”

 

“How can you say everything’s fine? Nothing’s fine! You died, to begin with! Can you understand how _not fine_ it is?”

 

“I know, but I’m here now.”

 

“Now? _Now?_ _Now,_ I am cracked, I freakin’ went mad, I have a mental-affliction! _Now_ I finally tell _you_ I love you, but I didn’t know it was _you_ because I have a new hobby of hallucinating!”

 

“John, please, try to breathe, you’ll faint.”

 

“Damn you! Don’t you tell me to breathe! I wasn’t breathing for three bloody years and _now_ it hurts! God…” John’s panic finally broke. His shoulders slumped with a deep sigh and he buried his face into his palms.

 

Sherlock sat on the table in front of him, feeling totally helpless. John looked small and fragile (so unlike him). He just wanted to wrap him up in his arms and stay like that until he’s whole again. But he didn’t. Except, he sat there with the determination of doing _anything_ John needed him to. Sherlock would wait for him to tell what it was.

 

So Sherlock sat there, still unquestionably existent. It was a funny feeling, John decided, that after years of fighting against it, he would crack down like this. There had never been such a chaos in his head. But the most ridiculous thing was that the biggest mess was not Sherlock coming back to life. It was him saying ‘I love you too’. _This can’t be happening._

 

He shook his head and looked up. Sherlock was there. _My God he’s here._ He stared at him like he was some kind of a scared animal. John assumed it was quite accurate. Then the realization hit him. _He’s waiting._

 

Sherlock had waited too. For three years. _He knew I was alive though…_ John added in his head. But he couldn’t find his anger anymore. Just longing. Strong and irresistible longing.

 

He grabbed Sherlock, pulling him into a hug. He squeezed as strong as he could, trying to make their bodies melt into one.

 

Sherlock was surprised for a second, but returned the gesture with a relieved sigh.

 

“If you dare to leave again…”

 

“I’m not. Never.”

 

“Good. Because I’m not dealing with your absolutely irritating replicas again.”

 

The answer was a low chuckle and John smiled for the first time in three years.

 


End file.
